And I would have walked off briskly, so the divorced person couldn't hit me round the head.
Now of course, being a divorcee myself (if only I could find the acute accent somewhere), I know that the opposite is true.
Warning! GENERALISATION KLAXON: Divorced people are actually - wait for it - Love Sponges. They soak love up wherever they find it. They look for it everywhere. They are dissatisfied if love isn't perfect. They don't want to have to work at it. If they dry up (my metaphor is...ahem...running a bit dry here) and don't have love, they leave.
I have conducted an in-depth survey (three respondents) and in all cases, these women left their partners because they didn't feel loved. There may have been other issues too - which for the purposes of this piece I am just going to ignore - but my observation is that, if you love each other, you will work hard to solve the difficulties. If you are not feeling the love, you give up. In the end.
Now actually, I happen to know that these women were all loved by their husbands. But the men, for whatever reason, couldn't express their love. And because the women felt quite literally like dry sponges, they turned away. Looking for a sloppy man to mop up.
I've found love again which, most of the time, makes me happy. But some of the time it makes me anxious, and upset, because I have the JEALOUS GENE.
I have been thinking about jealousy for some while now and during my meticulous research (mainly in my head) I have come to the conclusion that...actually, I have no idea why I'm so jealous. I don't think I have a particularly low opinion of myself. I don't remember a major emotional incident when I was younger that sparked it off.
But jealousy is linked with love in my head. This is how my head works:
1. If boyf loves me enough, his head will be full of me, and I won't have to be jealous.
2. If he doesn't love me enough, he will be on the look out for other women who are more culturally aware/more beautiful/more sophisticated/more local with fewer children/franklyjustbetter than me.
3. Conclusion: I have to work hard at making him love me more. And when I hear he has (for example) been in a meeting WHICH INVOLVES AN ATTRACTIVE WOMAN and then gone to the pub WITH THE ATTRACTIVE WOMAN (and some others) then the jealous gene smacks into override and I turn into a hateful pile of bollocks.
Now here's the thing. I can be a jealous, hateful woman when it comes to the boyf. But when I was married, I couldn't care less about what my husband did in his spare time. He could have been visiting every brothel house in the south west, making sweet love with my own mother, or best friend, or cat (actually, I would be slightly bothered about that) - I generally wouldn't give a fig.
It's love, you see. I didn't love my husband. But I do want my love to love me. Only me. Selfish dick that I am.
Incidentally, I love my children (boys) but don't subscribe to Freud and his Oedipal musings. They can bugger off and find a nice girlfriend when they're ready. (Although she'll have to pass THE TEST, of course. More about that another time.)
I'd prefer not to be so jealous, on balance. It's a wasted emotion that sits on your shoulders like a large seagull, shatting on you at its own convenience. I do try to keep a lid on it but sometimes it escapes, and my abhorrent neediness revolts even me. It's the uninvited guest. My own mini 'Black Dog'.
Which I can't seem to shake off.
And unfortunately, it might prove to be my undoing.